


Small Conveniences

by kissingandcrying (orphan_account)



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kissingandcrying
Summary: Harry and Eggsy bump into each other. They’re both only semi-decent spies.





	1. Greetings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassafrasx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/gifts).



> So there was a prompt that was just a classic fandom spy sex tropes sort of thing - and going off of that, I thought of two spies sort of having to work together because they bump into each other through their jobs. Except in this story they both suck at it and think they don't. Eventually, it'll lead to sex. Just give me a chapter to get to it! LOL. I thought I'd update this in three chapters rather than all at once because I changed which prompt I went with at the last minute and didn't have this installment finished until a few days ago (I turned it in on the due date). I'm sorry for that!

**Hell Is Empty And All The Devils Are Here**

 

There must have been some mistake, because there couldn’t possibly have been another person in the room with Harry.

The building itself was notoriously difficult to navigate. Of course, even getting to that level of reflection required slipping past millions of dollars worth of security - something that Harry and Merlin had worked tirelessly for _weeks_ to decode before they were comfortable sending Harry in.

The likelihood that someone else could have done what they did was so small that he ignored his senses and continue to prod at the computer in front of him despite having heard a soft shifting of fabric behind him. It only took a second before a more persistent proof became available in the form of a cold barrel to the base of his neck, and then someone’s deep, gritty voice telling him, “Right. If you’re lucky, you’ll be paralyzed. If you’re not, you’ll be dead. I need your name.”

Harry had worked too hard to get here. Honestly, he cared less about having a gun at the base of his neck than setting off one of the security baubles on the desk. Whoever was behind him hadn’t pulled the trigger yet and so their intent wasn’t security of the building. He cleared his throat and said, “No.”

“No?”

“No,” He confirmed. He went back to clicking his way down a long list of information. All he needed was a name and a file attached to that name. Just another moment, he thought. That’s all he needed. “You’ll have to shoot me to stop this transfer.”

The man scoffed and removed the gun.

“What the fuck? You can’t just… say no.”

“I’m not paralyzed _or_ dead, so it appears that I can,” Harry said tartly. He quickly scrolled through another 5, 10, 15 names until he landed on the one he needed. In seconds, he dragged and dropped the entire file onto his flash drive. “But since we’re asking questions, who are you and why are you here?”

“Can’t tell you my name, but how bout you call me ‘Easy E’.”

Harry couldn’t help himself. He was so stunned by such a stupid request that he turned to look at who had said it. Whatever he’d been expecting to see, it wasn’t what was behind him. A muscular, though not overly tall, man - no, _boy_ , dressed in a track jacket and jeans, with a cap on his head and his arms folded casually over his chest.

“I absolutely will not ever say that name,” Harry said very clearly, "Ever."

“'No, no, no'… I just met you and it's all you've really said. You ever say yes, you old sod?” The boy asked irritatedly. He walked away from Harry and went along the wall until he reached one of the file cabinets. Harry’s eyes followed him as he moved despite his gut telling him that absolutely no threat was present. It was curiosity that dragged his attention away from his actual work. The boy carried on, “We’re obviously not here for the same shit. Might as well let you get on with whatever the fuck it is you were doing. I just need…”

“How did you get in here?”

The boy clicked his tongue against his teeth and stopped in front of a file cabinet on the other side of the room. He turned his cap around to get the lip of it away from his face, and then he crouched down to grab something from his shoe.

“I came in through the window on the third floor.”

“The third floor?”

“Yeah,” The boy grunted. Harry noticed that he’d _pocketed_ his gun - surely the most ignorant way to store something like a firearm - and it dangled dangerously from the jacket. “Though it’s bugged and I’m sure I’ve gone and set the fucking alarms off.”

For a moment, all was still. Harry was waddling so deep in his own confusion that he thought he’d misheard, but what he was seeing and hearing had to be truth. A boy no older than his own nephews, had not only snuck up on him and threatened to shoot him, but soon after admitted that he’d tripped a wire and still decided to pursue his objective.

And they were both standing in this room waiting to be accosted.

“This is absolutely absurd,” Harry said, just as the boy started picking the lock to the file cabinet. He looked back to the computer to check the transfer and, after confirming it had taken, yanked the flash drive from it’s slot and saying, “If I were you, I wouldn’t stay. The security in this building will have you drawn and quartered.”

“Barbaric,” The boy said, unconcerned.

“Yes, well,” Harry responded.

Not a moment later there was the sound of an explosion a few floors below. The echo of it reverberated around Harry and his company, and it startled them both immediately into action. What had caused it was a mystery that apparently neither was keen to find out. The boy yanked the file cabinet's drawer open and quickly scanned the folders inside. When he'd found what he needed, he grabbed it, slammed the drawer shut, and looked around the room. His eyes settled on a large paperweight on a pedestal in a different corner.

“I got it,” He hissed, running over to the object. When he looked at Harry, it was with a wild, excited glint in his eyes. “Move.”

“No.”

“If you say no one more time, I’m gonna knock you in the fucking head with this. We need out and there’s a big fucking glass panel behind you-”

“It’s called a window-”

“And we’re getting out through it. Now _move_.”

The boy didn’t wait for a response. He wound his arm back and with a heavy grunt, threw the paperweight as hard as he could at the window behind Harry’s head. The cracking sound of the glass under the weight of it was immediate, and Harry turned to look at the webbing that the object had caused.

There was thudding, yelling, and then the sounds of additional company. Harry understood that though unconventional and very, very lazy, the window was now likely the quickest way to get out before they were found.

Harry quickly wrapped the flash drive in the case that Merlin had given him, and then he clipped it behind his tie. Once it was secured, he said, “Alright. Window it is.”

It was easy work to break the glass. One hard kick was all it took for the entire panel to buckle loudly, and for glass to cover the floor. Harry didn’t wait for his company to catch up - he slipped his gloves over his hands, adjusted his glasses, and then carefully climbed out of the window, tiptoes on the edge of some minuscule barrier that he could use to scale his way back down.

It took weeks of preparation to get into the building, and only ten minutes to get back out of it.

 

**Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit**

  

Harry needed to crack a code and all he had was a list of jumbled numbers to do it with. 

Sitting on a rock outside of an abandoned petrol station, he went over the number combinations in his head. There were only four numbers and yet none of the combinations he'd put together were working. Two hours of trying and naught to show for it. All he needed was to have them in the right order. That was all. And then he could access the safe, get what Merlin considered "very important information", and get the hell out.

With such a short list of objectives, Harry couldn't understand why it felt like it was taking so long.

The truth was that he was excellent at what he did. He'd been hired in his early adulthood to become an agent for one of the most prestigious, fastest growing organizations in the world. He'd gone through trials and elements of insanity to secure a position that reaffirmed that he was worth every amount said organization spent on him. He was a Kingsman and that  _had_ to count for something. Sitting on a stone with his legs going numb, quietly being bested by four numbers was a shock to his confidence - but his unwillingness to throw in the towel was often part and parcel of his success. If it had to count for something and this wasn't it, he was going to be pissed.

"Need a hand, mate?"

"No thank you," Harry said automatically, sighing and looking up from his paper. "I'm-"

"Doing a shit job of cracking a code, innit?"

Harry made a ghastly noise before he could stop himself. Something between a huff and a choke, his throat closed on him the second he set eyes on the one person he thought he'd never have to deal with again. England wasn't large but Jesus Christ, what were the odds? In his line of work - nil. Everything was assumed to be intentional.

That certainly made this boy a problem.

He jumped up as quickly as he could and kicked some life back into his legs. 

"Look," The boy sighed. "You've fucked it all up, because I can guarantee that that's not a fucking seven. It's a one." 

Harry stupidly looked down at the paper in his hand. He went from confused and suspicious about the boys company to considerate of the boys claims. A lethal combination of both emotions were something he couldn't afford as an agent, yet here he was shaking his head and wondering if the boy was right. Perhaps this was one of those wickedly stupid things he'd managed to overlook, and if that was the case, perhaps his own notion of his skill and self-worth were skewed, incorrect, and unjustified. It had to have been a seven.

"It's not a... it's not a one," Harry mumbled to himself, though he'd sat back down and started rewriting every number combination he'd marked out for himself, anyway. "It can't be."

"Glad I could help."

"Well I've not tried them yet," Harry said sharply. He huffed and looked up at the boy, jabbing his finger in a direction away from himself. "If you wouldn't mind just... shutting up and... going over there."

The boy laughed and ignored him, crouching down and waiting patiently for Harry to rewrite his list. 

"Who do you work for, anyway? Can't be anyone too important. They've sent a complete fucking pillock to carry out shit that just ain't getting done, apparently." 

Harry stopped scribbling and looked up, offended _and_ impressed.

"Excuse me?" 

"You take forever," The boy said. He reached into his pocket and Harry skittered sideways off of the rock, paper falling to the side while his hand fumbled for the firearm on his hip. The boy just laughed and yanked a small piece of card out of his pocket, and then he waved it around happily. "5401. Not that I needed the code to pick the fucking lock - that's a shit safe, to be honest. But I thought I might help you out a bit. This is all that was in there."

For the first time in two hours, he chanced a look over his shoulder to the abandoned safe that sat peacefully in the middle of the empty car park. The door was wide open. With a slight adjustment of his glasses and a squint of his eyes, he could see the empty interior, too. The boy had truly gone and cracked the code while he'd been sitting here, fiddling with a false set of numbers.  

"Oh, god," Harry sighed.

The boy sucked his teeth and asked, "But how much would you pay for this?"

"Nothing. Because it belongs to me," Harry said clearly. "And people don't pay for things that are rightfully theirs."

"Shouldn't," the boy corrected calmly. "They shouldn't pay, but sometimes they got to."

In the span of a few words, it became quite clear that without a barter, Harry wasn't getting that postcard. 

Harry was an older man. There was no denying that a lot of his practices were slightly out of fashion, but the audacity and disrespect of these younger agents was alarming. His intention was suddenly to remain upright - to not roll over and give up  _anything_ for a small piece of card stock.

"Who are you and who do you work for?"

"You'll be getting neither of those pieces of information, I'm afraid."

"Yeah, alright," The boy said, gripping both edges of the card firmly and starting to pull.

Harry heard the tear of perhaps one thread before saying, "Harry Hart."

Kingsman agents weren't babysat. He'd turned his glasses off when he'd started the tedious task of mapping numbers for the safe. Merlin had given him the go ahead because of the low risk associated with the task he'd been given. But this was a lesson, a very quick one, mind you, that it was never safe to not have Merlin looking over one's shoulder. Terrible decisions were made otherwise, including giving up a fairly major part of one's identity. 

"It's good to meet you. Again," The boy said. "And who do you work for?"

"That, I... I can't say."

The wind blew. The boy stood still. Harry just blinked and breathed and waited for a response.

"Hm. I'll get that next time, then." And with a worrying level of skill, the boy turned the post card to the side and flicked it in Harry's direction. It flew neatly between the two of them, and Harry reached out and caught it firmly between his fingers. It was still warm from having been held by someone else so recently. Without waiting, Harry looked down at the contents of it. A name and a number. Bingo. He adjusted his glasses to line the camera up with the card and quickly took a screenshot of it - then he looked back up at his company, intending to thank him. 

He didn't have a chance before the boy said, "Well it's good to meet you  _Harry_. I'm Eggsy." 

Harry nodded his head and committed the name to memory. It likely wasn't the boy's real name, anyway, but it was something to call him that wasn't 'Easy E'.

Eggsy. 

 

 


	2. Salutations

  **Violent Delights Have Violent Ends**

 

As it turned out, the proverb was true. The third time  _was_  the charm. 

Except - the third time was a complete "accident" and Harry wasn't on the job. He was picking up a bag of aubergines from the local grocery. Honestly, Harry couldn’t have played up his age more precisely if he’d tried.

With his basket slung over the crease of his arm and the satisfaction of having filled it with one of his favourite plants still fresh in his spirit, he turned away from the aubergines right into the back of a young twenty-something that had (seemingly) appeared out of nowhere.

After a brief fumbling for his footing and an adjustment of his shopping basket, he muttered, “I apologize.”

“Yeah?” The young man said, turning around with a smile on his face.

“Oh,” Harry said. For a spy, his spatial awareness _and_ observational skills weren’t as prominent as might have been necessary for the job. With a bit of embarrassment, he said, “Eggsy. It’s… it’s a pleasure. Seeing you again.”

Eggsy smiled so widely that he looked cartoonish. His cheeks turned slightly pink and he looked down at Harry's shopping basket.

“What’re you shopping for?”

“Aubergines,” Harry said, unabashedly. He reached into his basket and pulled one out, handing it over to Eggsy. “I’ve been meaning to cook some for months but haven’t had the chance. They’re quite good just brushed with herbs and olive oil. Grilling them is preferred, but there are other ways that they can be cooked if you’re so inclined.”

“Ah. Okay,” Eggsy said. His smile mutated into an amused grin and he considered the plant in his hands carefully. It was ridiculous, honestly, and in hindsight Harry shouldn’t have given it to him at all. What did he look like shopping for a basket full of purple vegetables? He’d not even had the chance to put anything else in his basket. Eggsy continued, “You cooking them at home?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“…yes,” Harry answered. “Though I’m sure you knew that already.”

Eggsy shrugged and stuck the aubergine back in Harry’s basket. After a small silence, he cleared his throat and said. “I’ll see you at your house, then?”

Harry’s mouth immediately said ‘of course’ while his brain began to scream obscenities – once again thrown off by the straightforward and uncaring attitude of his companion. He hadn’t just invited this boy to his house, certainly. And not when it was a boy who knew his identity _and_ status as a spy. He couldn’t have done it.

But by the time he realized that inviting the boy to his house for dinner was _exactly_ what he’d done, he was watching Eggsy walk away with his hands in his pockets and a hop in his step.

How quickly it had happened and what an idiot he was.

** Thinking Makes it So **

****

Harry’s house was a small flat with a beautifully decorated dining room. He’d put the essentials of the décor together himself, and then Merlin had come around and fucked it all up. Still, Harry's bedroom was outdated, his kitchen had some horrendous tile on the walls, his bathrooms were just... ugly, and so he thought he was well within his right to be proud of this part of his living space more than any other room in the building.

Almost three hours after the fact, Harry found himself considering the color, form, line, mass, and texture of his living space. There wasn’t much else to do while sitting alone at one’s dining room table, waiting for company while a plate of grilled aubergines slowly went cold in front of you.

He’d made more than enough for Eggsy.

Harry looked down at his plate and sighed. He’d been stupid to accept a proposal from a wild card from a boy that had thrown a paperweight at his head. He shouldn’t have wasted his time or money on humouringany invitations from someone like that.

He felt silly. If only he’d just-

“ _Harry!”_

The boy’s screaming his name was the only warning that Harry got before the plate of aubergines in front of him exploded. Shards of glass splintered around him and he startled badly enough to jog his chair back, covering his face to prevent it from the scratches and scrapes that often came from glass shooting towards you. He pushed his chair back almost violently once he'd gathered his wits, and he fell sideways, taking crawling his way towards the cover of one of the gaudy, ridiculous plants Merlin had put in the room.

He looked to the dining room entryway just as Eggsy ran past it, hands shielding his head as if his limbs could protect him from the bullets. It was comical. 

“What in god’s green name are you doing?” Harry yelled.

There was silence for a moment. Eggsy was no longer visible from the doorway.

“Eggsy?”

“Don’t use my _fucking name, Harry!_ ” Eggsy yelled back.

A second later, Eggsy crawled around the corner. He was still in the ridiculous hoodie and jeans combination Harry had seen him in the first night they’d met, and so the sound of denim scratching the wooden floor as he moved was clear. The cap on Eggsy's head was so firmly in it's place that Harry almost wondered if the boy had glued it to his skin. “And you fucked up that expression. I’m pretty sure it’s ‘God’s green earth.’”

“It’s whatever I bloody well want it to be. Who did you bring to my place?”

“Dunno. They followed me – _shit –_ “

There was another spray of bullets through his dining room window and Harry just shifted himself closer to the wall, reaching out and tugging Eggsy closer to him so that they’d both be covered by the bulk of the décor. Thank god for Merlin and his ridiculous taste in plants. 

“How could you have let them follow you?” Harry asked irately. When Eggsy hissed at him to quiet, Harry growled, “We have to get out of here.”

“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing, strangely enough," And as if he weren't acting tartly enough, Eggsy added, "Who would've thought a couple of spies could come up with a solution like that?"

"You can say what you will - but this is the last time you'll be in my flat with this nonsense, Eggsy." 

Harry’s house had been equipped with a saferoom. It was fortified by Kingsman’s best technology and so there wasn’t a doubt in Harry’s mind that it was the safest place for them to be. There was a trap-door beneath the stairs that they could enter through. If Harry could get himself and Eggsy to that door, all they'd have to do is slip down into the small holding area beneath them. There wouldn't be anyone (other than Merlin) who could get to them.

If Harry hadn't left his glasses in his bedroom, he'd have been in a much better position to get Merlin's help. As it was, if he decided to go for the saferoom, he'd be waiting until Merlin got in touch with him before he could get out. 

What was a little waiting with a fellow spy? Harry wanted to get out of this day alive.

"I have a plan," Harry said quietly. "But it requires a bit of patience."

Eggsy looked over his shoulder and said slowly, “What’s a bit of patience?”

“I don't know. We'd have to wait until I was contacted by somebody who has no idea that we're waiting for contact.”

“Oh my god,” Eggsy said. He sucked his teeth angrily and looked back at the mess that was Harry's living room. There were glass and wood chips everywhere. The room smelled like gunpowder and grilled aubergines. “Is there food and stuff?”

“Yes.”

“And a toilet?”

“Yes.”

Eggsy sniffed and paused. Then he said, “...and a bed?”

Exhausting. Tiresome. Harry's brain began to fire adjectives at Eggsy that it thought appropriately described him. None were fitting enough to include how positively mad the boy actually was. Harry huffed and shifted to his knees, readying himself for the crawl to the entryway. Eggsy laughed quietly and copied.

“Let’s get to the door first, Eggsy, and then we can worry about the bed.”


End file.
